


In The Attic

by dispatch



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Found Families, Gen, Growing Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:52:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6574312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dispatch/pseuds/dispatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thinks about it hard for a minute and asks in all seriousness. “What do you talk about with a ghost?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Attic

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr about 3 yrs ago, this was extremely inspired by Graveyard Book by Neil Gaimen which is a bunch of individual stories about a boy raised in a graveyard and is based on the Jungle Book. I wrote the sequels from Dick's POV and that came across TOO dark, so I never posted it. But last night I watched Jungle Book and I am suddenly INSPIRED and remembered I wrote this once upon a time. I am surprised it is so short now that I reread it. I think I will have the next chapter up in the next day or so. If not, this was meant to be a stand alone anyway.
> 
> This has the intention of being future DickTim (Tim is a tiny kid in the start of this so waaayyyy in the future), but I have no idea how far that will actually get even though I already have the big scene for it written out.

There’s a ghost in the attic. Tim tells his parents over breakfast. He likes mornings like this. When he has his oatmeal and he can look up and he’s not the only one at the big table. His mom never even glances up from her phone. His dad watches him over the morning newspaper, smiling slightly. Amused. “Does it have anything interesting to say?” Tim shifts in his chair, puts the spoon that’s almost too big for his hands down.

“I haven’t talked to it yet,” He thinks about it hard for a minute and asks in all seriousness. “What do you talk about with a ghost?”

Jack is grinning now. “That’s a good question. Honey?” Janet hums, she still hasn’t looked up. “What would be good small talk with a ghost?”

“What?” Janet drags her eyes from her phone. “Ghost? Oh, nevermind. We’re going to be late, Jack. We need to head out.” With that she pushes away from the table and leaves. Jack trailing after, but not before ruffling Tim’s hair.

“It’s small talk, kiddo. How about the weather?”

*

“Hasn’t the weather we been having been very pleasant?” Tim asks. He’s sitting in the middle of the attic, legs folded and back straight. He waits, and then tries again. “The weather forecast said we may be getting rain this weekend. Mrs. Mac says we could use some rain. We are in a bit of a drought,” Two hours later he climbs back down the attic stairs and does his best to clean the cob webs and dust that trail after him.

*

He hears Mrs. Mac tell the gardener that it’s only normal for a five year old to have imaginary friends. Tim wiggles along the tree branch, camera clutched between his fingers. He had heard some chirping and he thinks there’s a birds nest up here somewhere. He just has to be careful and he can find it.

The gardener says something about church and Mrs. Mac tells him he’s jumping to conclusion and not to be so superstitious. They’re getting closer to the tree. Tim holds himself very still and focuses on being quite. Hopefully Mrs. Mac won’t see him. He’s not supposed to be climbing trees like this and if she found him he wouldn’t be allowed to leave his room for a long time.

And he can’t be grounded. He has to visit to get the ghost to talk to him.

*

It’s three am and Tim is in the attic again. This time he brought provisions. Mrs. Mac says the way to any heart is through food, so he brings the yummiest, sweetest thing he can think of. When he asked for Mrs. Mac to make him her cake so he can share it with his friend (he uses that word maybe a bit early, but he has always believed in being hopeful) she had smiled and hugged him. Told him she was always happy to make him some and a growing boy should have sweets more often.

He sets a plate by the windowsill and sticks the fork in it so it sits upright. Carefully pours milk from the thermos into the paper cup and puts it beside it. Runs over to the other side of the room and pulls out his own cake. Takes a big bite and doesn’t look at the other plate. Staring is rude, he tells himself.

He manages to make his piece last a long time, with long waits between the bites. When he peeks over the other cake is still untouched. “You don’t like it?” Tim asks. And, “It’s alright if you don’t, but you should try it. It is very yummy.” He drags his fork through some left behind frosting, “But you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to. I just want you to like it.” He’s staring at his empty plate and his eyes start to sting and he knows he’s about to cry. He sniffs and rubs his nose. He hates crying. His face gets wet and dirty and he always feeling so cold afterward. Cold and very alone.

He hugs his knees and leans against the wall, buries his face behind them and tries his best to hold it back. He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

*

He wakes to thunder and he blinks blearily at the rest of the room. The little light from the outside lamp coming through the attic window distorted because of the rain that’s pounding against the house. It takes Tim a minute to understand what he sees but when he does, he jumps up. Stops. Moves forward and stops again.

The teenage boy in front of him grins. “Thank you for the cake. It was delicious.”

“Oh! You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it,” They both stare at each other grinning. “I’m Tim.”

“Hello, Tim,” The other’s body flickers, disappears for a second but comes back and, “You can call me Dick.”

**Author's Note:**

> Review and give me tiny Tim ideas! Seriously. I need them. Writing is hard.


End file.
